


No Account Pup

by thegreatpumpkin



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Descendants 2, Puppy Play, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: Just like fresh food and politely puzzled looks, the mainland seems to have an ample supply of privacy. An embarrassment of riches, especially when Jay seems to adapt to the new timetable with ease and Carlos’ body is still primed for "get it done in five minutes or don’t get it done at all." It used to be easier. Now everything is better, and he has no idea how to enjoy it.





	No Account Pup

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in between Descendants 1 and 2. I've been thinking a lot about code-switching, about the ways survival instincts developed in dysfunctional situations can be detrimental once you're out of that situation, and about Ben calling Carlos a "good boy." Somehow I threw it all the bullshit martini shaker that is my brain and it spit out this.

He wonders what it would be like to be a dog.

As long as you don't get made into a fur coat, it seems like an almost unrealistically blissful existence. The amount of joy Dude experiences running full-tilt across the quad, sticking his entire face into his food bowl, or just crawling into the little de Vil-colored sweater Evie made for him (as a favor to Carlos, of course)...it seems unlike anything a human could ever feel, or at least, not for very long.

It's better here, though, probably. No, definitely. There are dogs, and food that doesn't come from cans (food _literally_ grows out of the ground here, did you know that), and his mom can't reach him.

Probably can't. Jay doesn't worry about it, so Carlos doesn't worry about it. Not out loud.

And Mal is happy (as much as humans ever get, anyway). And Evie is happy, and Jay is happy. So Auradon is better.

It's just that the rules don't look anything like the rules at home.

For starters, everyone shows weakness _all_ the time. They don't even seem to know they're doing it. Jane’s getting better (Mal’s influence, of course), but she still slips up from time to time, and Carlos can hardly watch because she's going to get eaten alive acting that way.

Only...she doesn't. No one breaks into her locker or tears her dresses or throws her into the fountain. They don't even whisper that much, although maybe that's because they think Jane has Mal's protection.

Maybe she does. Jay has never stolen anything out of her ridiculously easy-to-open purse.

Sometimes it terrifies Carlos. Sometimes he wants to push Jane into the fountain himself, just so she'll understand what she's doing, how she looks to everyone else. He wants to shout at her to hold it together, because how does she think she's ever going to be friends with people like Mal and Evie if she goes around letting everyone know just how easy it is to tear her down? She's a liability.

 _People aren’t liabilities_ , Fairy Godmother’s voice twitters in his head. It’s the kind of thing she would say, which is funny because she’s like, Maleficent-levels of focused on her daughter growing up to be herself in miniature. What is Jane to her if _not_ a liability?

The whole thing ties Carlos in knots, because he honestly _likes_ Jane. She’s pretty, and a clever planner—and the careful uncertain way she pets Dude feels terrifically familiar. He sees her gazing at Lonnie the way he used to watch Jay before Jay started watching back: hopeful and hungry and sort of possessive of something you don’t even own yet. He sees her psyching herself up to deliver even the slightest bad news to her Fairy Regular-Mother and thinks _girl, me too,_ even if the FG’s anger is the toned-down cleaned-up sanitized-for-broadcast-television kind, like everything else here. He _gets_ it, all of it.

But he really needs her to _stop_ painting a target on her own back. He can’t stand next to her if she’s going to. He might not be tough like Jay or Mal, and no one can do what Evie does except Evie, but he isn’t part of Mal’s gang for nothing. Carlos _survives_ , he’s damn good at it.

He wouldn’t have believed it if you’d told him back on the island that surviving _here_ would be hard mode. Maybe he’s just not as adaptable as he thought—he doesn’t have a skillset that people want, not like Mal with her spells or Evie with her clothes or Jay wiping the floor with the opposing team.

At home he was good at knowing what people wanted, even if he didn’t have it. Maybe pretending to be it, or else finding it, for the right price. Hacking it together from two springs and a busted radio.

He doesn’t want to go _back_ , you understand. Not for anything.

It’s just—here it’s impossible to know when it’s all going to crash down. He can’t read anyone. At least Audrey used the kind of poison-apple sweetness he’s familiar with (Mal uses it too, sometimes, though not well enough that anyone on the island would buy it. Mainlanders don’t seem to pick up on it, which is maybe why Audrey was in charge before they got here.) Everyone else is inscrutable. They act weak but they have their own hierarchies, ones that have nothing to do with what makes a leader on the island. Maybe that’s why Ben shook Jay’s hand first instead of Mal’s when they arrived, because the rules are so different here. You'd better believe that nobody on the island would make that mistake unless it was a deliberate slight.

Carlos takes apart the video game system and analyses its guts, because it makes more sense than anything else. Jay doesn’t mind; he’ll just steal them another one if he gets bored. Sometimes Carlos takes bits of circuitry over to the girls’ room and sits with Evie while she sews. Sometimes he doesn’t take anything but Dude, and sits with Evie while Mal is off somewhere with Ben.

Sometimes he just sits with Evie for no reason. She drops easy kisses on the top of his head, or squishes their faces close together for magic-mirror-selfies, and that’s still okay, they’re still okay.

~

Jay's fingers are tight in his hair, pulling his head back, and Jay's teeth are on his throat. They don't talk. Jay's like that, all physical; Carlos has always liked that about him, how easy he makes this. He doesn't have to ask, or trade favors—a look is enough, because Jay wants it as much as Carlos does, and whatever arrangement they fall into usually suits them both.

Jay likes to get his hands in Carlos' hair, to curl his fingers and grip firmly enough that Carlos can't move without his say-so. Carlos likes—hell, Carlos likes everything when it's with Jay, but he does have some particular favorites and that's near the top of the list. Speaking of the _top_ of the list, ahem, another favorite: Jay's bulk over top of him, propped up on one elbow, a reassuringly familiar weight pressing him down into the (way too soft, by the way, what is it even made of) mattress.

The weird thing is that there’s no _urgency_. No rushing to beat the time when they’ll inevitably be interrupted, doing things fast and furtive and mostly-dressed so that when their few stolen moments of privacy are up they can be ready to fight whoever interrupted them. Nobody here _ever_ walks in without knocking—nobody except Mal and Evie, who’ve honestly already seen everything he and Jay have to offer at one point or another, and have better things to worry about anyway. They can lock the door if they want to, even. It's like their hangout back on the Isle, but better, because _beds._ And they don’t have to share it with the rest of Mal’s gang, either.

Carlos is still looking for the catch, whatever it might be. But just like fresh food and politely puzzled looks, the mainland seems to have an ample supply of privacy. An embarrassment of riches, especially when Jay seems to adapt to the new timetable with ease and Carlos’ body is still primed for _get it done in five minutes or don’t get it done at all_.

It used to be easier. Now they have time to take everything off and admire, if they want, but the only thing Carlos has shed is his jacket and he’s nearly over the edge anyway. Everything is better and he doesn’t know how to enjoy it.

He pushes Jay off—well, not so much that as, he pushes Jay’s shoulder a little and Jay backs off. There’s a question in his face, but it doesn’t demand much.

“Not in the mood,” Carlos says, and Jay nods, ignoring mountains of evidence to the contrary.

“Okay,” he says back, and bounces a little as he rolls upright. It’s that easy with Jay, of course it is. “I’m gonna go—” he makes a little hand motion, either gesturing to his own bed or miming something else, but Carlos doesn’t need to actually see it to know what he means.

“Yeah.” 

Jay's bed creaks as he throws himself down into it and settles in to take care of business.

Carlos lays still, gazing at the ceiling, and listens without watching. He wonders who it is he feels so angry with, because it sure as hell isn’t Jay.

~

Evie is a force of nature. At the moment she has hold of Carlos’ hand and is towing him at top speed through the corridors, a woman on a mission. She’s still got some height on him, though he’s catching up fast—he’s not sure if it’s just timing, or the ridiculously plentiful food here, but it feels like he’s taller every time he gets up in the morning.

“No, seriously, where are we _going_?”

“I can’t explain it,” she says, giddy. “You have to see it. Just...trust me, okay?”

He does, obviously.

They roll up to Ben’s dorm room, of all places, and she laughs at the look he gives her before she knocks. Ben pops his head out, sees it’s them, and swings the door wide, stepping back.

“I’ve got it all set up,” he tells Evie, and she favors them both with her highest-wattage grin before dragging Carlos over to where Ben’s laptop is sitting open.

There’s some sort of 3D model on the screen. Nothing too exciting—just the beast-face that serves as the Auradon Prep logo (which, weird choice if you ask Carlos, but no one did). At first he thinks it’s some sort of modeling software that she’s excited about, but it doesn’t really look like much. Then Evie clicks “print” on the screen, and something on the other end of the desk screeches to life in response.

Carlos’ head snaps around. He hadn’t noticed it before—it honestly looks more like some sort of weird decoration than tech so it hadn’t caught his interest. But now there are pieces shifting into place, making noises like a robot from an old sci-fi movie, and it has his complete attention.

Evie shakes his shoulder with barely-suppressed excitement. In a minute Carlos sees why—the piece that’s been triangulating down into position turns out to be a nozzle, which he only realizes because it begins laying out stripes of bright yellow material (plastic? probably plastic.) in the shape of the logo.

“It prints. In three. Dimensions.” Evie says through her teeth, which are clenched but probably only because she can’t stop grinning. Carlos’ face is probably something more like full-on _wonder_ , because it’s not enough that Auradon has (semi-retired) magic and the internet and bands you’ve never heard of and VR and dance battles that aren’t preludes to actual battles. You can literally _create things out of the ether_ , with zero magic.

He wants to take it apart so badly he’s already reaching for it before Evie slaps his hands.

“Ow! I wasn’t going to—”

“You were. Ben is letting me print custom zipper pulls later, which I _cannot do_ if you take his printer apart.”

“She’s right. And Chad would probably be pissed at me if I let you disassemble it after that.” Ben, for his part, looks over the moon that they’re so enchanted with his stuff. Figures. He is _way_ too happy about other people being happy sometimes, Carlos has started to wonder if he’s secretly some sort of vampire that feeds on joy instead of blood. Nobody can be that nice, it’s gross. Or it should be, except somehow he likes Ben despite it, which is even grosser. “We can probably try to find you one, though! The school might—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos tells him cheerfully, because his mind is already a million miles ahead of this conversation. He wishes he’d grabbed his tablet (well, someone’s tablet, but it’s his now, Jay ‘acquired’ it for him) before leaving his room, but Evie didn’t give him time—he wants to start making a list of things he needs, but he’s not entirely sure what goes into this kind of printer and he needs to research it. He could probably design one from scratch if he were inclined, but there’s no point in reinventing the wheel when he could be refining it instead.

Besides, it will be good for Jay to have some direction. Now that he’s not stealing for the shop, he has a bad tendency to pile up stuff that no one quite knows what to do with, until Mal gets that _look_ on her face and tells him to give some of it back. _Nobody_ ’s in a good mood when that happens.

Maybe Carlos will give Evie the first prototype. She won’t need as much precision for fashion as he’ll need for machining parts for his inventions, so she won’t mind if it’s a little rough around the edges while he works out the specs. Besides, the odds are pretty good she won’t be able to resist making some tiny accessories for lizard-Maleficent, and he doesn’t care how mad Mal gets about it, that will be _hilarious_.

Just for a second, he thinks— _imagine how much better it could have been if I had one of these back home._ They could have had—oh, just off the top of his head—better protection for their gear (with traps), more shit to barter or sell, the actual tools he needed at any given time instead of just the closest approximation he was able to scrap together. They did all right for the Isle, but—something so simple could have changed _everything_.

And then he stops thinking that, because who wants to be such a goddamn downer on the day you’ve discovered that 3D printers exist? Not Carlos, that’s who.

Ben’s printer is kind of slow, but he’s pretty sure he can tweak that with his own build. It takes forty-five minutes to print a logo that’s a quarter-inch thick, and honestly, who has the time? Still, there’s something spellbinding about the process. They spend the whole time hanging around Ben’s room, occasionally going back over to watch; Ben, of course, doesn’t mind a bit.

Evie and Ben get started talking about some royal event he’s taking Mal to, and Carlos tunes out for awhile. Still, Evie doesn’t forget he’s there; she comes over when there’s a break in the conversation and bumps her shoulder against Carlos’ as he watches the last few layers being printed. “Best day ever?”

“You know it,” he says back, and he’s really only exaggerating a little bit.

~

Here’s how things work on the Isle: If you have a problem, you take it to Mal, and Mal handles it. That’s what being in Mal’s gang _means_. 

Of course, that’s for real problems, not petty shit. You handle the petty shit on your own, because that’s what being an Islander means.

But for real problems—say, _I can’t get to my scrap supplier because Jace and Harry have joined up with Queenie, which means I have to cross her territory to get there_ —you go to Mal. And Mal sends Evie to make a deal, or sends Jay to even the odds, or maybe even faces off with Queenie herself if this is the last in a long string of incursions (it was). Either way, Carlos’s problems are Mal’s problems. That’s how it works.

So that’s easy enough. What’s not easy is this.

Does he even _have_ a problem?

And if so, what the hell is it?

Because every finely-honed instinct he has is telling him there’s something he’s missing, something that’s going to fall on his head if he’s not ready to dodge. The people in Auradon aren’t robots—sure, they’re way too obsessed with capital-G Good for its own sake, but they’re still people with grudges and rivalries and insecurities and questionable judgment. The more Carlos sees the more he’s sure that good is more of a cultural obsession than an intrinsic quality. And if that’s true—if the people of Auradon are just like villains except with a moral purity fetish—then he can’t trust them any further than he can trust people at home.

Less, maybe, because again, he can’t predict them.

He might have brought it up to Mal anyway, because (pardon the metaphor) the benefit of being the runt of the litter is that he can occasionally show weakness to his pack leader. But Mal is so damn busy these days, up to her eyeballs in royal nonsense. It’s a bad idea to bring up any problems she can’t take out her aggression on, especially nebulous maybe-not-even-a-problem problems.

He’s ignored his share of warning lights when working on his inventions, but never without knowing what they were for. When he disables a failsafe, it’s because he is intentionally working outside the equipment’s parameters _._ Ignoring an alarm because _you haven’t figured out why it went off_ is basically asking for an explosion later. It doesn’t sit right with him to just...pretend everything’s fine, but what else can he do?

The thing that’s hardest is the touching. Back home, you don’t touch people who don’t belong to you unless you’re starting a fight or a seduction. The four of them belong to Mal, and in a less formal way to one another; Carlos belongs to Jay as thoroughly and voluntarily as he can belong to anyone. He used to belong, far less voluntarily, to his mother (in his secret thoughts, sometimes, he’s afraid he still does). Those are the people who can touch him, the people he can touch.

In Auradon teammates slap each other on the back, classmates tap or nudge you to get your attention. Adults lay a hand on your shoulder sometimes when they’re addressing you. Carlos can mostly hide the reaction now, but it’s still there under the surface every time he’s touched without warning—he’s ready instantly for the fight his instincts tell him is coming. It’s not even that he doesn’t _like_ being touched; he craves it. (Evie or Jay will testify to that—well, no, they wouldn’t rat him out like that, but they’d certainly agree to the truth of it if Carlos said it first.) 

It’s just—like everything else here, it’s too good to be true. None of them lived this long by trusting pretty promises.

~

Tourney practice breaks up and Ben throws an arm around Carlos, catching him by the back of the neck and shaking him enthusiastically. “That was _killer_ , man, you actually gave Jay a run for his money.” He winks, then grins his magazine-cover glossy grin. “Good boy.”

It’s become an inside joke between them. Arguably. Carlos punches him playfully in the shoulder, because that’s the response that’s expected of him. The part where he flushes right up to his ears isn’t necessarily required, but damned if it doesn’t happen anyway.

“Only because I let him.” That’s Jay on his other side, throwing an arm around him too so that Carlos is dragged along between the two of them. He gives Carlos a look that says he’s noticed the reaction and will likely ask all kinds of mortifying questions about it later, joy of joys. “I’m working on my goodness, you know? Doing nice things for other people. Letting them feel important for a change.” Even Ben doesn’t buy that one, but at least he doesn’t notice Jay’s look. Or the one Carlos shoots back.

They’ll hash that out later, no doubt. Carlos can defend himself in the conversation they’re having out loud, if nothing else. “Hey, Ben, do you know if there are any empty dorm rooms in our hallway? We could use a second one, it gets really crowded in there with Jay’s ego.” Ben chuckles. Jay turns his chummy arm-over-the-shoulder into a headlock; he and Carlos scuffle for the rest of the walk back to the school, while Ben waffles between laughing and half-heartedly trying to discourage them.

It’s not until later, after they’ve both showered and had dinner and half-assed some homework, that Jay pounces.

“So. Ben, huh? I mean, I can’t say I blame you. And I’m pretty sure Mal would share if you asked nicely,” he says, smirking.

Carlos scowls at him over his W&P worksheet. He’d kind of forgotten about the incident already, and now he’s flustered, unprepared to defend himself. “That’s not what—I don’t—it’s not about _Ben._ ”

If he was intending to keep the truth to himself, that was the wrong thing to say. It takes a minute, but Jay isn’t stupid, and he knows Carlos too well. “That’s funny, because it sure seemed like— _Oh._ ” The penny drops, and Jay is _far_ too delighted with the realization. “Seriously? _Seriously_. You know your whole dog thing is out of control, right?”

“I don’t have a _dog thing_ ,” Carlos grumbles, then hastily scratches Dude behind the ears in apology, just in case he takes it personally. 

Jay is cackling with glee, and it kind of pisses Carlos off how attractive he is doing it. “Sure. It’s totally normal to get an instant boner when your team captain calls you a _good boy_.” Before Carlos can get a word in to argue, something else occurs to him, his grin getting even more wicked. “Holy shit, he had you by the back of the—he was _scruffing you_ , oh my god. That is amazing, do you think he even had any idea what he was _—_ ”

“Shut up, you’re making a big thing out of nothing.” 

“So wait, if it’s not about Ben…” Jay’s eyes light up, which is definitely a bad sign for this conversation. Carlos hastily shoves his homework aside and starts to get up from the chair, but—

“ _Down_ , boy.”

Both Carlos and Dude sit, instantly, as if their legs were cut out from under them. 

Carlos scowls at Jay when his brain catches up, but it’s way too late to save face. Jay’s looking like he did when they handed him the Tourney trophy, which means Carlos is _in for it_. He isn’t sure whether the heat prickling across his skin is embarrassment or something else.

Jay’s expression shifts to predatory as he gets up from the table, and the scales tip strongly in favor of ‘something else.’ “Go lay down,” he says, amused, testing. Carlos swallows hard and stays put, glaring, though he’s wavering; Dude looks between them, uncertain whether the command is for him. Jay steps closer. “Go. Lay. Down.”

Dude scampers for his spot on Carlos’ bed. Carlos holds Jay’s gaze for a second longer, then drops his eyes to the floor and slowly gets up, moving towards the bed without a dog already on it. 

Jay lets him go, waits until he sprawls out on it to follow. Carlos watches him close the distance, pulse pounding and breath shallow; he gives up trying to pretend he’s anything but extremely into the whole idea. Jay kneels over him, reaching down to slide hands into his hair in a way that is comfortably familiar—but instead of tightening his fingers in it, he scratches his short nails over Carlos’ scalp, in precisely the same way that Carlos scratched Dude behind the ears just a few minutes ago. “That’s my good boy,” he says, and he’s not joking around at all anymore, his smile possessive and smug but empty of malice.

Carlos tries, and fails, to stifle the whine that rises up in his throat.

Jay bends down to kiss him. Carlos, unthinking—in retaliation for the whole situation, maybe, or self-defense, wary of even Jay having this kind of insight into his haphazard patchwork of a psyche— _bites_.

It suits the fiction too well. Jay doesn’t miss a beat; he pulls back, catches Carlos’ jaw firmly in one hand and squeezes until it’s just shy of painful. “No biting. Unless you want a muzzle.”

Carlos does not. (He’s not sure what that would actually entail—some kind of gag maybe? Does Jay even know or is he just playing the part?—but restriction of that kind is frightening, not exciting.) He’s read some about dogs since Dude came into his life, about their body language. So he drops his gaze again, and tips his head back as much as he can in Jay’s grip, baring his throat. Contrition, represented by submission.

Jay’s grip loosens, and he cradles Carlos’ head between his hands again, touching their foreheads together briefly. It’s unusually affectionate for Jay. But maybe—you _can_ be affectionate, with a dog. A dog isn’t going to knife you while your guard is down, or use your weaknesses against you. The longing that surges up in Carlos at that surprises him. He wants to be that for Jay, wants to be _good_ for Jay. Not capital-G Good but—loyal. Obedient. _Safe_.

And then he’s not thinking about it so much as just reacting. He surges up to nuzzle his face against Jay’s—too enthusiastic, maybe, banging his cheekbone against Jay’s nose, but that fits the scene too. Jay laughs and pushes him back down with a hand on his chest. “Easy, boy, down.” He trails the hand down to the hem of Carlos’ t-shirt and grabs it, pushing it up to his ribs. His grin goes wicked again. “You want a belly rub?”

Dude gives a confused, hopeful whine from across the room, and embarrassment shoots through Carlos. This is too much, it’s too weird, he can’t—

Then Jay’s hand is hot on his bared stomach, touching him in a very _human_ way, fingertips dipping slightly below his waistband. He squirms beneath the touch and thinks, _okay. Okay, this I can—okay._

“Yeah,” Jay breathes, “you like that, don’t you?” He sneaks the hand up under Carlos’ shirt and drags his nails lightly down from the center of his chest all the way back to his navel, then strokes the skin beneath it, just above the waistband of his jeans. It’s not like it’s ever difficult to get Carlos going, but he still feels like he shouldn’t be this damn turned on from a few light touches to his chest and stomach. Jay is pleased, though, repeating the motion, and Carlos pants and squirms beneath his fingertips.

After awhile Jay gets impatient with Carlos’ shirt getting in the way, and tries to peel it off him. Since he’s halfway on top of him, though, it turns into a messy affair, Carlos caught halfway in and halfway out; and in the ensuing chaos, Dude decides it’s some sort of game and leaps across to join them. Jay finds it far funnier than Carlos does, especially given Dude wants to play tug-of-war with the shirt while it’s still partially on, but eventually he scoops the dog up and rescues Carlos. “Sorry, Dude, only one pup allowed on my bed and it isn’t you.”

Once he gets a good hold on Dude Jay points at Carlos, who has finally managed to get shirtless. “And you, _stay_.” Carlos wants to complain, but damn if Jay’s smile can’t make him forget every reason he was annoyed a minute ago, no matter how often he uses it.

Jay puts Dude down in the hallway. “Go hang out with Ben for awhile,” he says, and Dude trots off obediently, though it’s anybody’s guess whether he actually understood the order. Carlos feels obscurely guilty, but Dude was the campus mutt long before Carlos adopted him. He’ll find plenty to keep him busy.

Jay kicks his shoes off on the way back to the bed, then hops onto it, making Carlos bounce. He scoots up until his back is propped against the headboard, stretching out his long legs and patting his thighs in invitation as he grins down at Carlos. “C’mere, boy. Up in my lap.” 

Carlos licks his lips and rolls over, pushing himself up to hands and knees to obey. Jay reaches for him as he gets close, pulls him the rest of the way in, and Carlos relaxes a little against him. Jay is still Jay, even if they haven’t done... _this_...before. Then Jay gets both hands in his hair again, and any remaining tension goes out of him in a rush.

He ruffles it at first, playfully, like you’d ruffle a dog’s ears; then grips it hard and turns Carlos’ head to breathe _good boy_ hot against his ear. Carlos shivers, and whines, and feels as desperate and confused as when they first started fooling around back on the Isle. He can’t decide whether that’s a good thing.

Jay pushes back after a bit and glances down at himself. “You want to help me get out of this, boy?”

Like that’s a difficult decision. Carlos grins at him and reaches for the zipper of his leather vest—thank Evie’s aesthetic love of zippers for how easy it is to get this boy out of his clothes—but Jay catches his wrists and clucks his tongue. “Dogs don’t have opposable thumbs.”

Carlos makes a noise of disbelief, and Jay just quirks an eyebrow at him, staring him down steadily. Carlos whines again, this time in protest, but Jay’s not having it. “Go on,” he says slowly, still holding Carlos’ gaze, and it is a goddamned _order_. Carlos swallows hard and bends his head, nosing at the zipper until he can catch the pull in his teeth.

He has to get on hands and knees again to keep his balance while he drags it downwards, but Jay pets his hair idly while he does it so that’s all right. He winds up with his face in Jay’s lap, which to be fair is not an unusual place for him to be. Jay, smug as ever, holds him there for a moment with a hand on the back of his head—just to remind him who’s boss.

Normally Carlos would fight him, and it would devolve into laughter and wrestling and half-odds whether someone was going to get accidentally kneed in the groin. Instead he nuzzles against the seam of Jay’s pants until Jay draws a breath and presses him down with more intent. (There are other ways to win, after all. Even when you’re being a _very good boy_.)

“Think you can get those off too?” Jay asks, a hungry note overtaking the smugness in his voice.

Carlos doesn’t, not really—they have a button above the zipper and there’s no way he can pop that without using his hands—but a dog wouldn’t think about that, would it? So instead he surges forward, catching a belt loop between his teeth. He leans his weight backwards, tugging on it as hard as he dares, and gives the kind of small playful growl Dude makes when they’re playing tug-of-war.

Jay’s surprised laugh only encourages him. He leans to one side and then the other, as if pulling from a different direction will somehow convince the denim to part. Jay pushes him back with a palm on his forehead, still laughing. “All right, all right, enough! Enough. Good boy.” Carlos grins and rolls to the side so that Jay can shuck the jeans himself, and the boxers underneath. And shrug out of the unzipped vest, because he doesn’t do things by halves.

Completely stark-ass naked Jay is one of the many joys of Auradon—they never had time for that on the Isle. Carlos gets distracted from what they’re doing for a minute, because, _damn_. (Not that Jay’s ego needs any stroking. Although he can think of a few other things that—nevermind.)

He drapes himself across Jay’s legs, then tips his head back to look up at him, putting on a face that says: _see, I am being very good. I am waiting for permission. I’ll behave until you tell me otherwise._ Jay pets him again, not just his head but a long firm stroke down his bare back, and Carlos arches up eagerly into it. If he also angles his head down so that he’s panting hot breath against Jay’s dick while he does it, well, that’s completely incidental.

Jay has more patience than Carlos, but that’s not saying all that much. He manages one more long stroke down Carlos’ back before bringing his focus back to Carlos’ hair, curling his fingers gently in it and tugging just a little. “All right.”

Carlos scoots a bit further forward for a better angle, and Jay shifts to assist, spreading his knees until Carlos can settle between them. 

Carlos knows how to use his tongue—well, he knows what Jay likes, anyway—but he’s also trying not to think about it too hard. Dogs don’t. They just do what makes them happy. So when he licks up the underside of Jay’s dick, it’s downright sloppy, lacking his usual finesse. It still makes Jay’s fingers tighten in his hair, though. He keeps it up, sloppy eager licks chasing the taste of salt; and the happy little body-wriggle he does when Jay groans is completely, unselfconsciously genuine.

He wants—he wants with a sudden deep intensity to please, to be _told_ he is pleasing. He seeks it the only way he knows how, redoubling his efforts, repeating anything Jay reacts to with extra enthusiasm. _Please, please, tell me I’m good. Tell me—_

Then: Jay’s head hitting the headboard; Jay’s voice, strained, saying, “ _Damn_ , Carlos,”; Jay using his grip to guide him, pushing against his lips until Carlos opens his mouth wide enough to take him in. It’s almost enough, almost what he wants, and at the same time not nearly enough. He has to earn it, though. He’s going to earn it.

He can’t like, deepthroat or anything, but he’s definitely not bad at this, and he likes doing it. Especially when it makes Jay lose his cool, which he is _absolutely_ doing right now. If he can just—

“Yeah, that’s good, that’s _really_ good.” Jay finally gets with the program, thank ~~bad~~ goodness, because after all he _started_ it, “Look at you, you’re such a good boy—” And then he starts petting Carlos again, and the combination of words and touch is—it’s a lot. In a good way, but still, it’s _a lot_. Carlos squeezes his eyes closed; he can’t shut up, making little desperate noises in his throat, moving restlessly under Jay’s hands.

“Hey,” Jay says after a moment. And then, when Carlos doesn’t immediately look up— “Carlos.” It doesn’t quite pull him out of this...whatever space he’s in right now, but it gets his attention, enough to open his eyes and raise his head. “You need a minute?” Jay doesn’t wait for Carlos to find his words, which is probably for the best. “C’mere.”

Orders are easy. He comes. By “here” Jay means up in his lap again, sitting against his thighs; Jay draws his knees up a bit to tip Carlos forward, catching him with both arms and easing him in until Carlos’ head rests against his shoulder. Dogs don’t try to puzzle out what their masters are thinking, so Carlos doesn’t either; he just breathes, and calms down, and waits to be told otherwise.

When his breathing has slowed somewhat, Jay says, “We could just make out and jerk off instead, if you want.”

Part of Carlos considers it. That’s far more familiar ground for him—for them both. It’s safer. Just sex, none of the giddy dangerous way Jay giving him commands like a well-trained pet makes him feel.

But? But. 

In Auradon, there’s space to be a little less safe. He’s...aware of that fact, even if it’s difficult to internalize. People wouldn’t act like they do if they regularly got hurt for it. They wouldn’t hold their weaknesses up for everyone to look at, or trust people they’d just met.

He wants it, doesn’t he? He wants it, and Jay wants it, and it’s _Auradon_. He might not trust anyone here, not exactly, but he does know this: even if someone did find out, probably the worst that would happen is Chad struggling to come up with dog puns when Carlos walks by. It’s not like the Isle, where it would be an invitation for every bottom-rung lackey to beat him senseless.

So that’s settled.

He licks Jay’s cheek instead of answering.

Jay plays at being disgusted, ducking back, wiping his face theatrically with the back of his hand. “ _Ugh_ , dog slobber.” He catches Carlos’ chin, gentle but firm. “You may be a puppy, but it’s never too early for obedience training.”

Carlos’ heart beats out of rhythm; if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

~

A week later he comes back from class to find his newly-built 3D printer whirring along on something red and black.

“Did Evie come by?” Carlos asks, slinging his bag onto his bed.

“Was she supposed to?” Jay is doing push-ups like the jock he is; his voice floats up from the floor between counts.

“I figured she was printing something.” He starts over to peer at the contents of the printer, but Jay hops up and gets in his way.

“I am. Didn’t think you’d mind, since I got you the parts.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. “You find a model for something on the internet?”

“Nah. You’ll see.” Carlos tries to get a glimpse anyway, but Jay stays with him like a Tourney blocker, until Carlos gives up and sits down. 

It is, he’s not going to lie, _deeply_ suspicious that Jay’s printing something on his own. He’s smart, obviously, but he’s never show the least inclination towards anything as technologically complex as 3D modeling software, and Carlos is pretty damn skeptical that he suddenly developed both an interest and an aptitude.

He only has to wait about five minutes to find out, at least. The printer whispers to a halt and Jay jumps up again, grabbing the small item and palming it before Carlos can even get close, turning his back and blocking the view with his broad shoulders as he examines it.

It must pass muster, because he’s smiling in a wicked way when he turns around again. “Made you something.”

“Yeah?” Carlos says, deceptively light, though he doesn’t trust Jay to be serious for a minute when it comes to something like this.

Jay opens his palm and holds it out, grinning.

It’s—it’s a _dog tag_. Not like...the military kind. The kind you attach to a collar. And it has his name on it. Worse, it’s a pretty cool design, and Carlos knows with a sinking certainty that Jay could not possibly have created this on his own. His ears start to burn. 

“You told _Evie?_ I am going to _kill you_.” He clenches his fists, pretending it’s out of irritation, and not to keep himself from reaching for it.

Jay is unapologetic. “I _told Evie_ that I saw some of the kids from Halloween Town wearing them and I thought you’d like one, which is true. Chill.” Carlos lets out a breath and starts to reach for it, but Jay laughs and snaps his hand shut. “Of course then she asked me if I thought she was stupid, or if you just didn’t realize you had a dog thing yet.”

“Asshole.” Carlos launches himself at Jay and they scuffle—not that he could actually take Jay, but it’s never a real fight with the two of them. After a bit, Jay does some sleight-of-hand and drops the tag into Carlos’ shirt pocket, ending the roughhousing. 

Carlos pulls it out and leans against him while he examines it. “I might wear it,” he says, pretending indifference. “Evie does good work. I mean, on a chain or something. _Not_ on a collar, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Sure,” says Jay, too easily. It's suspicious. Carlos narrows his eyes, then flips the tag over. The back says: _IF FOUND, RETURN TO JAY._

He throws it directly at Jay’s forehead, though he misses, bouncing it harmlessly off his shoulder. Jay laughs his stupid head off, and Carlos flips him off and goes back to his own bed to sulk and surf the internet.

(So what if he gets up sometime in the night and retrieves the tag. So what if he’s maybe going to ask Evie for a chain to put it on, one long enough not to show above the collars of his shirts.)

Jay obviously notices the next morning that it’s not on the floor anymore, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither does Carlos.

~

_Vicious, rabid pack animals._

Carlos wonders what Dude would be like if he were raised on the Isle. He's not a big dog (at least, from what Carlos understands—he's not really ready to see larger dogs up close and in person yet, so he's taking the internet's word for it.)

Would Dude be like a doggy Mal, unflinching and hard? Like Evie, cool and calculating? Like Jay, quick and strong and spoiling for a fight?

Or would he have been like Carlos, running at the back of the pack and hoping he was doing enough not to get left behind?

Carlos isn't stupid. He gets that environment is a big part of what makes a person who they are, though there’s of course plenty of debate on the respective percentages of nature and nurture. Maybe the question he’s trying to ask is this:

_If I were born here, could I feel that kind of happy?_

He feels good sometimes, for a minute, even manages to forget a decade and a half of self-preservation training and feel _safe_. It scares him when he comes back around, that it’s that easy to slip into Auradon’s all-too-trusting mode, but it’s...nice. While it lasts.

_If I grew up here, would I feel like that all the time?_

Dude never worries about going hungry, or whether someone is going to kick the shit out of him for looking too easy to kick the shit out of. He never worries that the humans being kind to him are plotting to roll him for everything he owns. Why should he? He doesn’t own anything; he knows his needs will be met, automatically.

Carlos wonders what it would be like to be a dog, but he also wonders what it would be like to be an Auradon kid. And whether any of it would matter, or whether he is just fundamentally incapable, too much his mother’s son with all of her reprehensible genetics.

Sometimes he thinks of Mal saying _I want to be good, guys_ , and thinks: _I never wanted to be bad_.

But then sometimes he sees the Auradon kids going to class even when no one’s taking attendance, and doing work for extra credit, and making cookies for people who have never done anything to deserve it, and thinks: _but I’m not sure I want to be Good, either_.

All he _really_ wants is to stop thinking so hard about it, but he’s never been able to do that in his life.

Dude gets bored of sniffing around the shade trees on the campus lawn and comes barreling straight for Carlos. He makes a dive for Carlos’ lap and nearly bowls him over; guess he doesn’t want Carlos to think so hard about it either.

“All right, Dude, I get it,” Carlos says, trying to escape the enthusiastic face licks, not particularly succeeding. “If we can’t be Good, we can at least be good boys, right?”

Dude barks joyfully, and Carlos decides to interpret it as agreement.


End file.
